


wrong

by perhapssoon



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Jackson has adhd, and overstimulated mess, get it together jackson, ray wants to help, really now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perhapssoon/pseuds/perhapssoon
Summary: What is wrong with him?





	wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a vent but whatever lmao

Jackson can hear the roar of the crowd as soon as Gale pulls into her parking space in the lot. It’s not that loud yet, but he can feel the rumble even though the trailer floor. 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him. 

It does.  So he lies.

There really isn’t a reason to be nervous anymore, because Jackson likes to think of himself as confident and perfect. Too perfect. But even perfect people have flaws, right? No. 

Jackson has his flaws. He doesn’t. He hides it well. 

The flash of the cameras from the press very nearly blinds him, but he manages to keep the cool smirk on his face. Keep it toned down. Don’t let them get suspicious. 

“Storm—!” One starts to call out, but is quickly cut off by another. The shouts from all the reporters combined with the increasing screams from the crowd are almost too much for Jackson to handle. Almost. 

Ray always said to keep it cool, no matter what happens. So Jackson does. Even if it takes him all of his sanity to keep from exploding from all the noise and lights. 

He pushes past the reporters, despite their protests, and enters the throb of the pit. 

The next few minutes? hours? pass by in a blur and before long, Jackson finds himself at the start line. 

He’s fidgeting to look everywhere, he can feel it, and he forces himself to stop. Keep a collected image in public. There are cameras everywhere, recording every single thing you do. He hates this public image thing.  Getting distracted all the time shouldn’t be such a burden.

His tire feels jittery, and he has to concentrate on the flag up ahead to block out the need to rub it against the track in irritation. His efforts are in vain because honestly, could the crowd get any louder? Not that it really related to his needs but it would help if they all stopped screaming for just one minute. 

He can vaguely hear the engines from the racers all around him. The lights glitter, burning themselves into his eyes, forcing their way into his vision, even with his eyes closed.

It’s too much. 

But Jackson was built to race, and race he shall. 

The flag drops, and they’re off. 

He leads the pack, as always, a flash of bright yellow at his side. Combined with the lights overhead, the yellow makes his eyes hurt.

He looks away. 

Cruz Ramirez is persistent, however, and forces him backwards. 

He doesn’t care anymore. 

The shouts and cheers are deafening, the stadium almost shakes with their screams of joy and encouragement. It’s so loud, Jackson almost misses the static crackle that alerts him to Ray’s presence. 

_[Stay focused, Jackson. I’m losing you.]_

Right. The race. 

Jackson shakes his hood as an attempt to refocus himself. It doesn’t really help, but now he can clearly see Cruz’s spoiler, outlined clearly against the colorful noise of the crowd. He tails her for the next twenty laps before Ray shouts at him again. 

_[Come on Jackson! Take the initiative!]_

He can _almost_ hear the disapproval and surprise in his crew chief’s voice, but the crowd is too loud to really make out any discernible emotion.  Reluctantly, he pulls around Cruz and takes the lead. 

There’s nothing to focus on here. He’s too fast to be able to concentrate on anything for even a few seconds. 

_[Good.]_

Jackson considers blocking out his crew chief’s voice because it only adds to the combustible amount of noise and light. But he remembers not to. He and Ray prepared for this.  And Ray has said, with a surprising amount of patience, “No matter how much you want to, I need you to keep yourself open for my advice. We can’t lose you out there.”

Ray has a tendency to sound like he doesn’t care. And Jackson couldn’t care less either . But deep down, _maybe_ he knows what Ray meant. 

So he keeps the channel open. 

Ray seems to understand what’s going on, because he’s silent for the next thirty laps.  And then he says, _[Something wrong?]_

“Is now _really_ the time?” Jackson’s teeth are clenched, and he’s pretty sure that Ray can hear it, but he is past caring.  He needs to win this race and get away from all this sensory overload as fast as possible. Because as quick as Jackson already is, it’s not fast enough to have this race over.

_[Concentrate on my voice, Jackson.  You’ll be fine.]_  Luckily, Ray doesn’t need any explanation; he already knows. Jackson doesn’t really know what to feel on that.

_[Or focus on the race.  It was what you did before, right?]_

“I don’t know.” Jackson says finally, rounding the last curve to go to pit.

He sits there while his tires are changed, mind blank.  This race needs to end already. The next clump of laps pass by in a blur and Jackson has just resorted to dealing with the noise and lights.  He didn’t know why he had such a hard time concentrating. He usually didn’t have this trouble before.

Cruz is drafting him now, and he can’t shake her.  It reminds him of the Florida 500 for a brief moment, and the minor thought change is all she needs to pass him.

Cruz Ramirez wins the race, and Jackson couldn’t care less.  Or maybe he does, but he can’t bring himself to care _right this minute._

Ray greets him at the end of the race. “You good?” he asks, an expression of concern flickering across his face for a brief moment.

“Yeah.” Jackson can see the crowds of reporters up ahead and steels himself before entering the tunnel of shouts and flashing lights.

“Storm! This is your fifth loss to Ramirez!  How do you feel?”

Jackson chooses to ignore and and pushes forward.  He can see Gale, already hooked up, and he’s slightly grateful.

“I’m not answering any questions today,” he grounds out, hoping that the tone in his voice will be enough to get the reporter to back off.

She does.  But another takes her place.

They are all in his face, shouting names, questions, time, and Jackson can’t take it anymore.  He pushes through the crowd, Ray following close behind.

“He’s not up to questions right now,” Jackson can heard Ray say to a reporter, and they immediately converge on him.

“Do you think this has to do with Storm’s loss?”

“How will this loss affect his performance?”

“Do you have any concerns about Storm’s future status in the racing world?”

Jackson is almost to his trailer, when he hears Ray’s last words, somehow cutting clearly through the mess of stimuli.

“...and I really truly believe that Jackson Storm’s performance will not be affected in any way.”

The trailer is silent, for once.  Gale seems to recognize that Jackson has had a rough race, so she stays quiet and doesn’t ask questions, allowing Jackson to sort out his brain.

He doesn’t know what happened.  Sure, he gets overstimulated all the time, but he hadn’t had it this bad since he first started racing.

His immediate blame goes to Cruz, but a more rational side tells him no.  So he ignores it, as usual.

Right now, though, is just this one thought cycling through his head. _What is wrong with him?_


End file.
